


I've Nothing (Without You)

by Poochee



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Rush (2013)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pining, Promiscuity, Prompt Fic, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poochee/pseuds/Poochee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A huff of forced laughter is heard, and nothing more. The line is silent for a moment, until Niki speaks up again, his voice firmer, “Tell the truth.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Fine.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Niki waits.</i>
</p>
<p><i></i>Please come home. <i>“Did you see the pictures of my new photoshoot? A lovely little bird, isn’t she?”</i></p>
<p>
  <i>“James.”</i>
</p>
<p><i></i>I miss you. <i>“I miss you.”</i></p>
<p>
  <i>Maybe he’s still a little drunk. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Nothing (Without You)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so tired i cant even remember if i like this fic or not  
> regardless of that, i hope you enjoy it!
> 
> prompted by americanpornstar on tumblr!  
> the song: [Without You - Lana Del Rey](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idlCwqsQFsI)

He can’t remember the last time he was completely sober.

Maybe it was the morning he left their house. He had a cup of stale black coffee at the kitchen table, and thought he deserved better. He knew he deserved better, so he threw it to the ground, like a child throwing a tantrum. He walked through the shattered ceramic and lukewarm liquid, ignoring the little cuts on the bottom of his foot because he was too busy noticing the lack of German cusses and angry ranting that usually accompanied his fuck-ups.

Niki had left not too long after the end of the season. He assured James it was because he wanted to go back to Vienna for a visit, to see Marlene. James had smelt bullshit, but he let the Austrian run off to hide from the world for a while. His loss of the ’76 World Championship hit hard, and it tore them apart  _seamlessly_. Like a paper cut slicing through the first thin layer of skin. It's small, insignificant, but it hurts like a broken bone and ached just as much.  
  
But there has to be a winner and loser in this picture, and there's nothing they can do about that.

Perhaps today is the day that his blood isn’t as poisoned as much as it has been for the past week, but who’s he kidding? The numbing buzz keeps him from feeling what he really is.   
  
Alone.

Even if he’s alone, winning the championship gave James many things. A bank full of money. Private jets. Endless,  _endless_  alcohol. Curvy, tanned women with thick thighs and a tight pussy.

Fame.

He has everything. His life is sweet, like vanilla, but reality is crashing down hard, and he's come to realize that all of this is not worth it when he doesn’t have someone special to share it with.

James smirks to himself, imagining Niki’s smirk and blunt voice, ‘ _Who are you? James Hunt isn’t some sap._ ’

He misses Niki. Misses his kisses. His hugs. His snide little comments and their endless banter. He misses Niki’s body. His smile. His eyes. His soft stomach.

The ache in his chest spreads through to his body, and settles deep in his bones.

He has next to nothing without Niki.

So, he picks up the phone.

Marlene’s voice is soft when she answers, “Hello?”

“Where can I get a hold of one Niki Lauda?” He mumbles into the phone, high, with an unsure little smile on his face.

“Just one?” Marlene teases lightly, “Why not more?”

He wouldn’t be able to handle more than one Niki.

“James?”

“Sorry. Is he there?”

The line goes quiet, but he picks up the soft murmuring on the other end. He turns his head to look at his cage of budgies, smiling solemnly at them, and they chirp quietly back at him. They’re the one constant thing in his life, so he takes good care of them. Maybe even better than himself.

There’s a gentle rattle at the other end of the line, a cord being untangled, and then a soft German –  _Austrian, asshole_  – accent, “James?”

And it’s like his body deflates. His eyes slip closed, a smile lifts his lips, and he slowly begins to fall into his back. He lays out on the plush carpet, brushing his fingers through it, enjoying the way his body feels light. It's better than any hit of any drug, and he's purring, “Hello, darling.”

He knows Niki has a love-hate relationship with that word. Niki loves the exclusiveness as much as he loathes it.

Still, he images Niki licking his lips as he hears it, looking from side to side as he tries to lower his voice for some privacy. He misses it, too; watching Niki on the phone. He could wave wildly while shouting German at the top of his lungs or laugh softly into the receiver, depending on who he was talking to.

His voice is still soft, maybe even a little unsure, “What are you calling for?”

_I love you so much._ “I’m out of booze.”

A huff of forced laughter is heard, and nothing more. The line is silent for a moment, until Niki speaks up again, his voice firmer, “Tell the truth.”

“Fine.”

Niki waits.

_Please come home._ “Did you see the pictures of my new photoshoot? A lovely little bird, isn’t she?”

“James.”

_I miss you._  “I miss you.”

Maybe he’s still a little drunk.

The line is nearly silent, Niki’s soft breathing reminding James that  _oh, yeah, that’s the sound that’s missing next to me when I go to bed._

“Is that so?” Niki still sounds skeptical, but a little bit more amused.

“Yes.”  _You irritable, adorable dunce._

“So you’re sick of the parties and planes and girls, then?”

He didn’t expect Niki to  _not_  be snarky. No, even he missed that.

“Never, darling,” he chuckles softly, sitting up again and crossing his legs, hunching over his own lap as he cradles the phone in both hands, “I just think you’re overstaying your welcome at Marlene’s.”

Niki’s breath turns into a soft sigh, traveling through the line and into James’ ear. It’s the same sigh Niki gives when James sucks on the side of his neck. It’s steady and short, to cover up how he really feels. Niki doesn’t allow himself to feel the full pleasure when they’re together, unless they’re drunk and then, and only then, do the sweetest sounds James’ ever heard fall from his lover’s lips.

He misses those, too.

But the tone of Niki’s voice makes him weary. It’s tired, in a way that sets him on edge, “This is the first time you’ve contacted me in almost two weeks, James.”

He knows that. He’s been busy.

With what? Fucking girls, getting high and drinking until he pukes? Yes, but there’s been photoshoots and partying, enjoying his youth and his life’s biggest achievement. It isn’t all a waste, and he’s not done yet.

“I know,” he mumbles, straightening up and crawling halfway onto the couch, pressing the side of his flushed face against the cool leather.

“And you want me to come home now? So I can do what – stay home while you go out?” Niki’s getting angry now.

He mutters a ‘no’.

“Then, what? Hmm? Because I  _know_  you James, I know you better than most and I know once you’ve had your fill, you’ll leave me again--”

He snaps a little.

A lot.

“ _You_  left  _me_ , Niki!” He shouts, totally and completely unnecessary, but there’s no way he’s going to be blamed for everything this time, “The first night I left to Spain for two days,  _you_  left before I even began to pack! You ran away with your fucking tail between your legs, hiding away your shame with Marlene, who has the burden of taking care of your mopey ass--”

The line goes dead, and James knows he’s fucked up.

When he calls back six times in a row, no one answers.

\--

He begins to resent Niki over the next few weeks. This is  _his_  win,  _his_  success, and it’s all for nothing because he’s pining away over an annoying Austrian rat with an overbite and cocky attitude, who can’t bear to hear the truth from the man he almost loves.

James still misses him. His life isn’t as beautiful as it had been. Even his home in Spain isn’t as gorgeous as it had been at the beginning of the month. The heat is unbearable these days. Beads of sweat gather on his forehead and he barely has any time to wipe them away before they’re rolling down his face, like unshed tears. He spends his overheated afternoons drinking and wiping the sweat from his rough jaw, feeling the sandpaper-like roughness beneath his fingertips.

He drinks himself into a stupor and fucks as many women as he can, in between the calls to Marlene’s. The girls come willingly, unlike Niki’s voice, but when James calls them by his lover’s name accidentally they’re turned off, and he apologizes. They accept the lies unlike Niki, and eventually leave, like everyone else, and James has no one but his birds.

Sometimes he imagines Niki with him. He’d be tanned, his curls twirling between James’ fingers when he runs his fingers through them. Niki would eat yogurt and pasta and he’d get a little chubby; James would worship his body and remind him how beautiful he is, regardless of his scars. The scars make him something divine, something to show how strong he is and that he can survive, and James would tell him again and again until Niki began to believe it himself.

Maybe he’d pick up on a little bit of Spanish, too. It would sound funny with his accent, and people would giggle, and James would tease him, but he’d be proud. They’d go on dates, walking the warm streets at night, making out on the balcony and drinking one another in while they laid in bed, staring and talking until the sun came up.

James could cook for him if Niki wanted to stay in. They could cook together in the mornings, enjoy one another’s company, get in fights and make up and have amazing sex. Kiss endlessly and celebrate together.

But he can’t have any of that. All he has is images of that life they’ve never lived.

\--

He tries their house back in London one afternoon.

Niki picks up after the fifth ring.

Silence.

“James, I know it’s you.”

His voice is stony, cold; the Niki he met at the first F3 race. It doesn’t make James relax this time. Instead, he’s standing, pacing, pulling the phone base behind him with the cord as he holds onto the receiver in a white-knuckled grip.

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs the familiar greeting, hoping it’ll warm the atmosphere between them.

It doesn’t, and James supposes he’s not surprised, “What do you want this time? Phoned to remind me how much of a failure I am, like my father? How unlovable and how much of a  _burden_  I am?”

That makes James wince. Did he really say that?

He rubs at his lower lip as he paces across the hardwood, staring out at the ocean from the balcony doors, “I’m sorry, Niki. So, so sorry. I was drunk--”

A harsh scoff, “That’s your excuse for everything, James. I can’t take it to heart anymore.”

_Because I’m always drunk._ “Niki…”

“No, you can take that apology and shove it up your ass – call me back when you’re ready to own up to your fucking mistakes.”

Niki hangs up on him again.

\--

Another week passes, and he knows what he’s done wrong. He wants to fix it.

So, he calls home on night.

“Hello?”

_Hello, darling._  “Niki, please let me talk.”

He takes the silence as his cue to continue.

And he clams up, if but for a moment. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, undressed except for a knitted sweater, underwear, and socks. He hadn’t expected Niki to pick up so late.

He tries to cohere his thoughts. “I was swept away, by my own selfishness,” he begins, his voice a murmur into the darkness and Niki’s ear, “I wanted everything that came with my win, including you, but I should have known that it wasn’t possible. I wanted you and everything else, but I’ve come to realize that it’s either you  _or_  everything else…and I never realized how winning the World Championship would change me – on how I feel about you. I’m still the same James you know and hopefully still love, but…” He laughs, unsure and nervous, because he doesn’t know what to say without making it sound fake, “I have nothing without you, Niki. All of this, the winning, the fame, the fortune…it means nothing without you. I want you so bad, Niki...darling, and I’m still so sorry for what I said earlier. I’m a total and utter prick for leaving you alone, especially while you’re still going through the therapy--” His voice catches, and he realizes there’s a lump in his throat.   
  
He left Niki alone. His Niki, the one that suffered nearly alone in the hospital, watching his rival win races and being put through endless pain in order to heal. James had done his best to be there with him, to support and hope, but there's only so much one can do. It was all worth it in the end; the sleepless nights beside Niki's bed, holding his hand that hadn't been burnt in the crash, whispering encouragements into his good ear and gently kissing every inch of unmarred skin. 

The realization shocks him to his core, leaving him shaken. “I-I should be there, at home, with you, not here by myself and all alone because that’s bullshit, Niki." His voice is shaky and he's never been one to show and tell his emotions, but he can't hold back this one, "I love you so much and I’m throwing us away just for a title that will mean next to nothing next year…even if it means the world to me--" he's beginning to ramble, afraid that Niki will hang up and leave them alone again, "--this is something we’ve been wanting since we were kids and we were willing to fucking die for it, but you mean so much more to me, Niki, and I want  _you_  more than some bloody trophy and title. I'm not ready to lose you again,  _especially_  over my own stupid mistakes…”

There’s silence on the other end, and James’ heart sinks to his stomach at the thought of baring his soul out to Niki only to be cut off.

“Hello?” He whispers into the receiver, his vision blurring, “Hello? C-Can you hear me? Niki?”

There’s a sharp little sniffle, and Niki readjusts the phone, his voice soft and a little broken, “I’m still here, asshole...”

A relieved little laugh leaves James, a smile on his sad face, because just to hear that makes all of James’ doubts disappear. Niki's not going anywhere just yet.

“Niki--”

“I’ll--”

They pause, and give little awkward laughs, until James presses, “You go first.”

“Right,” Niki mutters, his accent a little thick, and there’s another little sniffle, “I’ll go there, tomorrow.”

James' smile is sad again, but he’s glad to hear how far Niki’s willing to go just for him, “No, don’t you set one foot out of that house, Lauda.  _I’m_  coming home tomorrow, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” There’s nothing left for him here, aside from the parties and friends and girls. He just wants Niki for the next while.

There’s that sigh again, but it’s lighter. Softer. Relieved.

“Alright, James. I’ll wait for you here.”

“Thanks for humouring me, darling,” he smiles, feeling like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, although he pauses and mutters, "I love you."

Niki doesn't hesitate his response, and it makes James cry.

"I love you, too."


End file.
